Chapter 9: Strength That Protects

The New Worker

Reza is thirty-five and works in a large warehouse that stores furniture and household goods. He is tall and strong, and he has worked there for twelve years. People sometimes find him intimidating at first, because of his size and his serious face. Those who know him know that he is gentle.

A few weeks ago, a new worker joined the team: a slight, nervous young man named Pim, nineteen years old, in his first job. Pim is slow at first, as all new workers are, and he makes mistakes. One of the shift supervisors has started to pick on him, mocking him in front of others, calling him names and giving him the heaviest, most unpleasant tasks. Some of the other workers laugh along. Pim says nothing, but Reza sees him eating lunch alone in the car park, looking miserable.

One afternoon, the supervisor shouts at Pim for dropping a box and calls him useless in front of the whole team. Reza puts down what he is carrying, walks over and stands beside Pim. He does not shout. He says quietly to the supervisor, "That is enough. He is new. We all dropped boxes when we started." Then he turns to Pim and says, "Come on, I will show you how to lift those." The supervisor mutters something and walks away.

Later, Reza reports the supervisor's behaviour to the warehouse manager, who takes it seriously. Pim's treatment improves. A few months later, Pim is one of the most reliable workers on the team. He tells Reza that he would have quit in his first month if Reza had not stood beside him that day. Reza shrugs. "Strong people should look after others," he says. "Otherwise what is the strength for?" This chapter is about that question, and about the bushido virtue that answers it: benevolence.

The Tenderness of the Strong

In Bushido: The Soul of Japan, Nitobe Inazō has a chapter on benevolence, which he associates with the Japanese word jin and with the Confucian idea of humaneness. He calls benevolence one of the highest qualities of a person, and he argues that it was especially expected of those who held power, including the samurai.

Nitobe describes an ideal that he calls the tenderness of the warrior, in Japanese bushi no nasake. The idea is that the strong should show kindness, mercy and protection toward the weak, the defeated and those in need. Gentleness, in this view, is not the opposite of strength, but its proper companion. A strong person who is cruel has misused their strength. A strong person who is gentle has used it well.

Nitobe also suggests that benevolence is especially important for those with power, precisely because they can do so much harm. Rectitude and justice, he says, are masculine virtues, firm and unbending, while benevolence and mercy soften them, so that strength does not become harshness. Nitobe uses the language of his time here, but the underlying point can be put simply: firmness and kindness need each other.

We should, as always, remember that this was an ideal. Many samurai did not show kindness to those beneath them, and the strict hierarchy of their society often meant that the weak were exploited rather than protected. But the ideal itself, that strength exists to protect rather than to dominate, is one of the most valuable things in the bushido sources.

Reza's question, "Otherwise what is the strength for?", expresses this ideal perfectly. His physical strength, his years of experience and his standing in the warehouse gave him power. He chose to use that power not to join in the bullying, but to protect someone more vulnerable. That is the tenderness of the warrior in a modern workplace.

The Child at the Well

Nitobe draws on the teaching of the Chinese philosopher Mencius, whom we met in the chapter on rectitude, to explain the roots of benevolence. In a famous passage, found in the Mencius at book 2A, section 6, the philosopher offers a simple example. Here it is in my own retelling.

Mencius says that every person has a heart that cannot bear to see others suffer. To show this, he asks us to imagine someone who suddenly sees a small child about to fall into a well. Anyone who saw this, he says, would feel a jolt of alarm and distress. They would feel it not because they wanted to win the favour of the child's parents, not because they wanted praise from their neighbours and not because they disliked the sound of the child's cries. They would feel it simply because it is human to feel it.

From this example, Mencius concludes that the feeling of distress at others' suffering is the beginning, or the sprout, of benevolence. Every person has this sprout. But, like a plant, it must be cared for and allowed to grow. A person who nourishes this feeling becomes truly humane. A person who ignores or suppresses it may lose touch with it.

This is a hopeful teaching. It suggests that benevolence is not something rare that only special people possess. It is part of every human heart. Reza did not need to be taught to feel distress when Pim was mocked. He felt it naturally. What he did, and what the other workers did not do, was act on that feeling.

Mencius's image also helps us notice the moments when the sprout of benevolence appears in us: the tug of concern when we see a stranger struggling, the discomfort when someone is mocked, the wish to help when a friend is in trouble. These moments are invitations. When we respond to them, the sprout grows stronger. When we ignore them again and again, it can wither.

It can help to remember that the sprout of benevolence is often strongest in the first moment, before our minds start to argue with it. When we see someone struggling, the first feeling is often simple concern. Then the second thoughts arrive: it is none of my business, I am busy, someone else will help, they might not want help. Acting on the first feeling, while it is still fresh, is one way of nourishing the sprout before the second thoughts can trample it.

Kindness Is Not Weakness

In many places, there is a common belief that kindness is a sign of weakness, and that strong people should be hard, tough and unsentimental. Children, especially boys, are sometimes taught that showing kindness or gentleness will make them look weak. The ideal of the tenderness of the warrior challenges this belief directly.

In the bushido sources, at least in their ideal form, the warrior was expected to be both strong and kind. Nitobe notes that samurai were encouraged to cultivate gentler arts, such as poetry and music, partly to soften their characters and develop their feeling for others. A warrior who could write a delicate poem about falling blossoms was admired, not mocked.

Kindness, in fact, often requires more strength than cruelty. It is easy to join in when a group mocks someone. It takes strength to stand apart and defend them. It is easy to shout at someone who has made a mistake. It takes strength to stay calm and help them learn. It is easy to ignore someone in trouble. It takes strength to stop and help, especially when it is inconvenient or risky.

Many people can remember a moment when someone stronger than them chose kindness: a teacher who did not humiliate them for a wrong answer, an older child who protected them in the playground, a boss who forgave a mistake, a stranger who helped when they were lost. Such moments often stay with us for life. They teach us, more than any lesson, what strength is for. Remembering them can help us become that kind of person for others.

Kindness also grows out of confidence. A person who is secure in themselves does not need to put others down to feel strong. The supervisor who mocked Pim may, in fact, have been showing his own insecurity. Reza, secure in his own strength, had no need to mock anyone. His kindness flowed from his confidence.

Protecting Those Who Are Vulnerable

The tenderness of the warrior is, above all, about protection. In daily life, we often find ourselves in situations where someone weaker or more vulnerable than us is being treated badly: a child being teased, a new colleague being bullied, an elderly neighbour being taken advantage of, a stranger being harassed in public.

In these moments, it is tempting to look away. We may tell ourselves that it is not our business, that someone else will step in or that we might make things worse. Sometimes these concerns are real. But often, they are excuses that our fear creates, like the ones we met in the chapter on rectitude.

Protection does not always require dramatic action. Often, simply standing beside the person being mistreated, as Reza did, changes the situation. Saying a calm word, such as "That is enough" or "Are you all right?", can be powerful. Reporting the behaviour to someone with authority, as Reza later did, can lead to lasting change. Afterwards, checking on the person who was mistreated, so that they do not feel alone, is a quiet but important act of kindness.

It is important to protect ourselves too. Stepping in should be done wisely, without putting ourselves or others in danger. If a situation involves violence or serious threat, the wisest action may be to call for help from the appropriate authorities or emergency services rather than intervening directly. Courage, as we saw in the chapter on courage, includes judgment. The tenderness of the warrior is not recklessness. It is care, guided by wisdom.

After stepping in, it is also worth taking care of yourself. Standing up for someone can leave us shaking, anxious or doubting whether we did the right thing. These feelings are normal. Talking with someone you trust, reminding yourself why you acted and allowing yourself to rest can help. Protecting others is easier to keep doing when we also look after ourselves.

Kindness Without Condescension

There is a way of being kind that can actually hurt the person we are trying to help: kindness that looks down on them, treats them as helpless or takes away their dignity. This is sometimes called condescension.

Real benevolence respects the person being helped. It does not make them feel small or ashamed. It does not take over their decisions or treat them as unable to manage their own lives. It asks what they need, rather than assuming. It helps in a way that strengthens them, rather than making them dependent.

It also helps to remember that people often want to help themselves, with a little support. An older person may prefer to carry their own shopping, with someone walking beside them, rather than having it taken from their hands. A colleague may want advice, not someone to take over their project. Asking "Would you like some help?" and accepting the answer, whatever it is, is a simple way of showing respect while offering kindness.

Reza's way of helping Pim is a good example. He did not lecture Pim about being weak, or do Pim's work for him, or make a show of rescuing him. He stood beside him, said a calm word and then offered to teach him how to lift the boxes properly. His help respected Pim and made him stronger. Months later, Pim was one of the best workers on the team, which was the best possible result.

This connects with the chapter on politeness, where we saw that real courtesy is sympathetic regard for others' feelings. Benevolence and politeness together mean helping others in a way that honours their dignity. The question to ask is not only "How can I help?" but also "How can I help in a way that respects this person?"

Benevolence in Positions of Power

Nitobe believed that benevolence mattered most of all for those who held authority. The old ideal of a good ruler, which he drew from Confucian teaching, was someone who governed like a parent caring for children, putting the welfare of the people above personal gain. Whatever we think of this image today, the underlying idea remains important: the more power a person has over others, the more their kindness or unkindness matters.

In modern life, most of us hold some power over others, even if we do not think of it that way. Parents have power over children. Teachers have power over students. Managers have power over staff. Older siblings have power over younger ones. Experienced workers have power over new ones, as Reza did. Even a customer has some power over a shop assistant, and a person with money has some power over a person without it.

Each of these positions brings a choice. We can use our power to make others' lives easier, safer and more dignified, or we can use it carelessly, harshly or for our own convenience. The supervisor who mocked Pim used his small power to make himself feel bigger. Reza, with more experience and natural authority than the supervisor, used his to protect.

A simple question can help anyone in a position of power: if I were in the other person's place, how would I want to be treated? Asked honestly and often, this question is one of the most practical forms of benevolence there is.

Kindness to Yourself

Many people who are kind to others are harsh with themselves. They forgive others' mistakes easily but punish their own severely. They comfort friends who are struggling but tell themselves to toughen up. They would never speak to anyone else the way they speak to themselves in their own minds.

The ideal of benevolence can be extended inward. The sprout of feeling that Mencius described, the distress at seeing suffering, can also be turned toward our own suffering. When we are struggling, failing or in pain, we can meet ourselves with the same tenderness we would offer a child at the edge of a well.

This is not weakness or self-indulgence. People who treat themselves with kindness are often better able to face difficulty, admit mistakes and keep going, because they are not crushed by their own harsh judgment. Kindness to oneself, like kindness to others, often requires strength.

In practice, kindness to yourself might mean noticing your harsh inner voice and softening it, resting when you are exhausted, asking for help when you need it, forgiving yourself for mistakes and acknowledging your efforts, not only your results. If you find that your inner voice is persistently cruel, or that you struggle with deep feelings of worthlessness, it can help to talk with a qualified professional.

Four Lives and the Tenderness of the Strong

Hannelore is sixty-eight and notices that an elderly neighbour, a man who lives alone, has started receiving visits from a smooth-talking young man who seems to be pressuring him to sign papers. The neighbour seems confused and frightened. Hannelore is not sure it is her business. But she remembers the child at the well. She visits the neighbour with a cake, gently asks about the visitor and learns that he has been pressured to hand over a large sum of money for unnecessary repairs. With the neighbour's permission, she helps him contact his son and a local service that advises older people. The scheme is stopped. The neighbour says that Hannelore saved him.

Dev is fifteen. In a group chat at his school, several students start sharing cruel jokes and edited pictures about a classmate who has recently moved to the area. Dev feels sick, but he is afraid that if he says anything, the others will turn on him. Then he thinks about how the classmate must feel. He writes in the group chat, "This is not funny. Stop it." A few others then add, "Yeah, leave it." The jokes stop. Dev also tells a teacher, who deals with it discreetly, and he sends the new classmate a friendly message inviting him to sit with his friends at lunch.

Magda is forty and manages a small team in an accounting firm. She is known for being demanding, with high standards. But she has also made it a rule that, when someone on her team makes a mistake, she speaks to them privately, never in front of others, and focuses on how to fix it rather than on blame. When a young employee makes a serious error before an important deadline, Magda stays late to help her correct it and then tells her, "Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is how we fix them." The employee never forgets it. Magda says that being firm and kind at the same time is the hardest and most important part of her job.

Reza, from the beginning of this chapter, continues to look out for new workers at the warehouse. He becomes, informally, the person whom new workers go to with questions. A year later, the warehouse manager asks him to become a shift supervisor himself. Reza hesitates, then agrees, on one condition: that he can spend time training new workers properly. Under his supervision, the team's mistakes decrease and its members stay longer. He says that the most important thing he learned from that day with Pim was that strength is for protecting, not for pushing.

Hannelore, Dev, Magda and Reza each had some kind of strength: experience, courage, authority, physical power. Each used that strength to protect someone more vulnerable, and each did it in a way that respected the other person's dignity. That is the tenderness of the warrior, alive in ordinary lives.

Practical Steps

First, notice the sprout. When you feel concern or distress at someone else's suffering, notice it. It is the sprout of benevolence. Let it guide you.

Second, ask what your strength is for. Think about the kinds of strength you have: experience, skills, position, confidence, health. Ask how you might use them to protect or help others.

Third, stand beside someone. When you see someone being mistreated, consider simply standing beside them or saying a calm word, if it is safe to do so.

Fourth, report and follow up. When mistreatment is serious, report it to someone with authority, and check on the person afterwards.

Fifth, help with respect. Ask what people need, and help in a way that strengthens them and honours their dignity.

Sixth, be kind to yourself. Turn the same tenderness inward. Notice your harsh inner voice and soften it.

A Short Exercise: Using Your Strength Well

This exercise takes about twenty minutes. It helps you see the strengths you have and how they might be used to protect and help others.

Take a page and write at the top: "My strengths." Underneath, list the kinds of strength you have. Think broadly: physical strength, health, knowledge, skills, experience, position at work, money, time, confidence, patience, a calm manner, the ability to listen, the trust others place in you.

Next to each strength, write one way it could be used to protect or help someone more vulnerable. For example: "Experience at work: I could help new colleagues settle in." "Calm manner: I could step in when arguments become unkind." "Time: I could visit an elderly neighbour."

Then think of one situation in your life where someone is currently being treated unfairly or is struggling without support. Write it down. Ask yourself: what is one small, safe and respectful action I could take?

Choose one action and take it this week. Afterwards, write a few sentences about what happened and how you felt.

Finally, add one more line to your page: one way you could use your strength to be kinder to yourself. For example: "Patience: I could be patient with myself while I learn this new skill."

Questions People Often Ask

"What if I am not strong enough to protect anyone?" Everyone has some kind of strength, even if it does not feel like it. A child can befriend a lonely classmate. An older person can listen to someone who is struggling. A shy person can send a kind message. Strength is not only physical or powerful. It is any ability you have that can help someone else.

"What if stepping in makes things worse?" Sometimes it can, which is why judgment matters. It may help to think about the safest effective action: speaking calmly rather than aggressively, involving someone with authority, supporting the person afterwards rather than confronting the aggressor directly. If a situation involves danger, contact the appropriate authorities or emergency services. Doing nothing is not the only alternative to dramatic intervention.

"Is kindness always the right response?" Kindness, rightly understood, includes firmness. Being kind to someone who is causing harm may mean setting clear limits, refusing to enable their behaviour or holding them accountable. The tenderness of the warrior is not softness toward wrongdoing. It is care for the vulnerable, combined with the strength to protect them.

Chapter Summary

Nitobe's chapter on benevolence describes the ideal of the tenderness of the warrior, bushi no nasake: the strong should show kindness, mercy and protection toward the weak and those in need, and firmness and kindness need each other. Mencius, in book 2A, section 6, says that anyone who sees a child about to fall into a well feels alarm, not for gain or praise, but simply because they are human; this feeling is the sprout of benevolence that every person has and must nourish.

Kindness is not weakness; it often requires more strength than cruelty and flows from inner security. Protecting the vulnerable can be as simple as standing beside someone, saying a calm word, reporting serious mistreatment and checking on the person afterwards, always with judgment about safety. Real benevolence respects the dignity of those it helps, and it can be turned inward as kindness to oneself.

In the next chapter, we look at honour, and at the difference between a healthy sense of self-respect and a crippling fear of shame.